Tea And Secrets
by Jennifer Cannon
Summary: Colonel Clayton, moving to Arlington to be closer to his family, meets Alice Murphy of the Veteran's Aid Society. But is she really what she seems to be?  A very special thanks to Ermintrude, who helped tremendously with this story  *language warning*
1. Chapter 1

***The usual disclaimers apply-Scarecrow and Mrs. King is the property of Shoot the Moon Enterprises an Warner Brothers. All other characters are the property of the author and may not be used without permission. Special thanks to Ermintrude and the Wicky Gals for your help and support with this. Hope you enjoy ***

**Tea and Secrets-Part One**

**1000 ****Agnew Dr. Apt 3C**

**Wednesday, December 17, 2003**

**12:30 PM **

"There we are, Mr. Gradin." Mrs. Murphy said. She took a few steps back, admiring her handiwork. "That makes all the difference, don't you think? Brightens everything up a bit."

"Sure." Carl Gradin took a swig from his flask as he stared at the object in the corner of the room. Twinkling lights and brightly colored balls—red, green, gold and blue—all the colors of the season, as his Dad would say. Carl could remember how he'd pile them all into the car every Christmas Eve and they'd drive around the neighborhood, seeking out the houses which were the most elaborately decorated.

"One day, Carl," his Dad would tell him, raising his voice so he could be heard over the carols playing on the radio. "One day that'll be us."

Of course it never had been them, he thought. Work had been sporadic at best, and with a mortgage and four mouths to feed there never been enough for luxuries. Still, it had been nice to dream at the time.

Now his father was dead—a heart attack last year at the age of fifty-three—and his dreams seem to have died with him, along with Carl's own dreams of a family, a career. All gone. He stared down at his legs—his now-useless legs, his sock covered feet in the footrests.

'If Dad could see me now….' Actually he was glad that he couldn't see him now. Carl took another swallow, feeling the burning sensation as the liquid went down his throat—painful and pleasant at the same time.

"No." Before he could protest, Mrs. Murphy snatched the flask from his fingers. "You won't be needing any more of that. I'll make us some tea."

Tea? What the hell century was this lady living in, anyway? "I don't have any," Carl told her.

"Never mind, I have my own," Mrs. Murphy assured him. "The Veteran's Aid Society always comes prepared. Do you have a kettle?" Carl shook his head. "Well never mind," she said. "We can always boil some water in a pan." Reaching up into the cabinet she pulled down a small saucepan along with two coffee cups. She filled the saucepan with water, setting it on the stove.

"So what exactly does this Veteran's Aid Society do again?" Carl asked.

"Basically whatever needs to be done to help our retired and our wounded vets," Mrs. Murphy replied. "Bring meals—help with daily chores—and even provide company when needed. We are contracted with the Veteran's Administration, as I said. Though I mostly work with retired vets—you're the youngest one on my list so far."

Her list. Carl's fist clenched—she made him sound like a thing instead of a person. "I'm not a charity case, you know."

"Oh I know that," Mrs. Murphy smiled over her shoulder. "Like I said, we're just here to help. You just recently moved here, right?"

"That's right."

"And your wife?"

Wife? Carl was about to ask how she knew that when stared down at his hands—at the wedding band still on his finger. He still hadn't worked up the nerve to take the thing off.

"We're—we're separated," he managed finally. "Been almost a month now."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Mrs. Murphy poured hot water into two cups. "Any children?"

"No. I got deployed almost as soon as we married." They had wanted children, of course—but after he was wounded—and even after he'd come home—the nightmares where he'd wake up in a cold sweat— the drinking—the uncontrollable bursts of anger—all those things had caused Marissa to leave.

"I'd like to understand," she'd told him as she'd stood at the door, tears filling her dark eyes. "I'd like to help." But he couldn't help her understand—even if he wanted to—not when he didn't understand himself. Burn-out, PTSD—all these words the shrinks threw at him, Carl thought sourly— and it didn't make one fucking bit of difference.

"Well you never know, Mr. Gradin." Mrs. Murphy's voice pulled him back to the present. She stood in front of him now, tray in hand. "Anything might happen in the future. Tea?"

"Sure, why not." He actually felt like something stronger, but what the hell. Carl took one of the mugs from the tray. "Here's to the future." Or what was left of it, anyway. He took a sip.

"That's the spirit, drink it while it's hot." Mrs. Murphy smiled as took a seat on the sofa facing him. She placed the tray on the coffee table. "I make mine strong and sweet—I hope that's to your liking."

"Yeah, it's good." Carl took another sip, feeling the warm liquid sliding down his throat. He wasn't sure if it was the warmth or the sugar, but already he was starting to feel better.

"So you were in Afghanistan, is that right? Where were you stationed?"

"Outside of Kabul," Carl replied. "I was with the 438th Air Expeditionary Wing. It's kind of boring stuff."

"Not to me," Mrs. Murphy said. "Tell me about the 438th. What did you do?"

"I can't get into a lot of that—classified stuff," Carl found himself enjoying this conversation—

Marissa had never wanted to hear details about his work—she'd always said it bored her. "But we were activated as part of the Global War on Terror."

"Must have been a large base," Mrs. Murphy commented, her pale eyes watching him over the rim of her cup.

"Bagram? Hell, yeah." Carl said. "Three hangars—a control tower."

"Must have been a lot of men at that base."

"About 500, I think." Was he supposed to tell her that? He wasn't quite sure. "That's a rough number, of course."

"I see," Mrs. Murphy said. "Were you stationed at Andrews before you were deployed?"

Another sip of tea. "Briefly. But before that I was stationed at Langley Air Force Base."

Mrs. Murphy's smile widened. "Really? That must have been interesting. Why don't you tell me more about it, Mr. Gradin."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**1104 Agnew Dr.**

**Thursday, December 18, 2003**

**10:30 AM **

The angel on top of the tree was still crooked.

The colonel stood on the stool in front of the tree as he fiddled with the thing. Christmas carols played on his radio, telling him to be merry and bright—at the moment, however—he felt anything but.

"Come on," he spoke to himself as he fiddled with the thing. It was supposed to be easy, after all. The angel was cone-shaped on the bottom, and according to the picture on the box it was meant to fit snugly and neatly on the top of the tree. In real life, however, the darned thing kept wanting to fall to the side.

'Should've gotten an artificial tree,' he thought to himself. But he'd been driving past a shopping center when he'd spotted them, sitting out there in the lot—he'd flashed back to the Christmas he'd spent with Matthew and Jennifer, when Lee was just a little tyke—not more than two or three at the time. The colonel remembered Lee valiantly trying to help his father carry it inside the house:

"_I'm getting it, Daddy!" Lee had said as he'd walked behind his father, trying to lift the top part into his arms. "I'm helping!" _

_Matthew had smiled. "I can see that, sport. You're doing a good job, too."_

Christmas trees weren't something you had to deal with on base—there was usually a tree in the mess hall and he'd never seen the point in putting one in his quarters. But now that he was living here—now that he was going to spend Christmas with his family he wanted to make it special.

"Got it—got it." The angel was almost straight—just a little more and it would be perfect—

At that moment the doorbell rang.

"Just a minute," the colonel called out. "I'm coming!" Leaving the lopsided angel, he stepped down off the footstool, praying that it wasn't any more teens selling magazine subscriptions—he'd already dealt with two this morning. With a sigh he opened the front door.

Instead of a scruffy youngster, however, he found himself staring down at a small bespectacled woman with gray hair.

"Colonel Robert Clayton?" Her voice carried a soft lilt—Irish, maybe, or something else? He wasn't sure.

"Yes?" The colonel wondered how she'd gotten his name, but maybe she was part of the neighborhood welcome wagon—that would make sense. "What can I do for you?"

"Actually it's what I can do for you," the woman fished in her purse and handed him a card. "Alice Murphy—I'm with the Veteran's Aid Society."

He looked down at the card with the photo ID—the picture and name matched what she'd just told him. "Veteran's Aid Society?" the colonel repeated. "Never heard of you."

The woman's smile widened. "That's not surprising," she replied. "We're actually a non-profit charitable organization with a contract through the VA—you've heard of the faith-based initiative."

"I see," the colonel said. "So what exactly is it that you do, Ms. Murphy?"

"Basically anything we can do to help," the woman answered. "May I come inside, Colonel Clayton?"

The colonel hesitated. "I'm afraid I don't actually need anything at the moment—" he began.

"Well that's all right," Mrs. Murphy replied. "If I could just have a few moments of your time to tell you about our work, I'd be most grateful. May I?"

She had the same almost-desperate air as the door-to-door magazine people, the colonel thought. But she also seemed sincere and friendly—he had no desire to be rude to a lady.

"Won't you come in, Mrs. Murphy?" he asked, opening the door a little wider to allow her to enter.

"Thank you," Mrs. Murphy said. She turned slowly, taking in the living room.

"May I get you something to drink—some coffee, perhaps?"

Well actually, I prefer tea," came the reply. "But coffee will do for now."

Do for now—just how long did she expect to be here? He did have to admit, though—it was nice to have the company. The coffee in the pot was still hot, thank goodness—taking two coffee cups from the cabinet he filled them both.

"Would you like sugar or cream? " he asked.

Silence. For one moment the colonel wasn't sure if she was still there. Finally she answered.

"Five sugars, please. No cream."

Five seemed like a lot to him, but if that's what she wanted—he tore open five packets and put it in the cup, using a stirrer to mix it in. Two creamers went into his own. Cups in hand, he went back into the living room. Mrs. Murphy stood on the stool on tiptoe as she straightened the angel.

"Just needed a little bit of adjustment," she said as she stepped off the stool, smoothing her skirt with both hands. "I hope you don't mind—things like that sometimes require a woman's touch."

"Not at all," he told her. "I was having trouble with it myself, so I have to thank you. Coffee?"

"Thank you." Taking the cup he offered her she took a small swallow. "Lovely, just the way I like it." Another sip. "I must say, for someone who only moved in a few days ago you've made a lot of progress with your decorating."

A few days ago—this woman had definitely done her homework before coming to see him. "Yeah, well I got some help," he replied. "My nephew and his family helped me to get settled in."

"Family?" A slight raise of the eyebrows—had the news surprised her? But the look faded, replaced by a smile. "It's always nice to have family around to help you, isn't it? Do they live nearby?"

The colonel nodded as he took a swallow of his coffee. "In Arlington—I moved here to be closer to them."

"Believe me, I understand," Mrs. Murphy said. "After such a long career it must be quite an adjustment, though—settling down in one place. At least that's what I hear."

"It can be," he agreed. "But there comes a time when you decide you're ready. Why don't you sit down, Mrs. Murphy—and tell me what the Veteran's Aid Society does."

"Right to business— that's very good, Colonel." Mrs. Murphy sat on the sofa beside him. "Well as I said, our job is to basically help with anything that needs doing."

"And what does anything involve, exactly?" he asked her.

"Anything. Bringing meals, cleaning, landscaping and gardening, cooking—even being a sympathetic ear when needed," Mrs. Murphy said.

"Your volunteers do all that?"

"Oh, I think you'd be very surprised at how much our volunteers can do," Mrs. Murphy said. "Everyone who works for us is very highly trained."

"Very admirable, I'm sure, Mrs. Murphy. But I don't really need—"

But before he could finish his sentence, the woman, reached over onto the coffee table.

"Oh my, would you look at this!" Mrs. Murphy exclaimed as she turned the blue and white object slowly in her hands. "This is really a beautiful vase. Where did you get it?"

"In Morocco," the colonel replied. "And it's actually an ashtray, or 'cendrier' as they'd say in French."

"Really? I never would've guessed that." Mrs. Murphy laid the object back down on the table. "Were you stationed there long?"

The colonel shook his head. "Just for a few months back in '62."

"There was some turmoil in the country at that point wasn't there?" Mrs. Murphy asked. "I think I recall something on the news."

"Well there was always turmoil between the Moroccans and the French, but most of it died down in the fifties when they won their independence."

"That's it, of course," Mrs. Murphy said. "I'm very forgetful with dates, I'm afraid."

"Well it's understandable. It was a long time ago."

He needed to tell her to go, he thought. She'd already made her sales pitch and he definitely wasn't interested. At the same time, the colonel found himself enjoying the company and the conversation—it wasn't as if the rest of his neighbors had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome. He took another sip of coffee as he regarded her. Not bad looking for her age, either—a bit old-fashioned, but that wasn't always a bad thing.

"Exotic foreign lands," Mrs. Murphy had a far-away look in her eyes. "Mr. Murphy kept meaning to take me to those kinds of places, but there was never enough money and then—" her voice faltered slightly. "Then there wasn't any more time."

"I'm sorry," the colonel said. "Losses like that can be hard."

"Yes," the woman gave a small sigh. "I suppose that's one of the reasons I like this job so much—I get to hear about all the places I've never been. I expect you've been to quite a lot of places."

"More than I care to admit," the colonel said drily. "Still, at least it was never boring."

"I can imagine. So where were you stationed back then?" Mrs. Murphy asked. "Was it near Marrakesh?"

"About 36 miles outside of the city," the colonel said. "It was at Ben Guerir."

"I see. And is that a large base?"

"It was—but for the most part we left that base in 1963," the colonel replied. "It's run by the Royal Moroccan Air Force now."

"I see," Mrs. Murphy said, her tone suddenly dismissive. "And where were you stationed after that?"

"After that it was Elmendorf."

"That's in Alaska, isn't it? Near Anchorage? What was that like?"

For some reason this was starting to feel a bit like an interrogation. Maybe he was overreacting, though—she was probably just trying to make small talk. The colonel opened his mouth to speak when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get that." Putting the cup of coffee on the table he rose from the sofa. "Just one moment." He opened the front door to find Dotty standing there, holding a large basket.

"I probably should've called, I know," she said. "Hope I haven't inconvenienced you."

"No, not at all—come right in, Dotty."

"Thank you," Dotty replied. "Amanda and I were doing some baking and we thought you'd enjoy some treats—some gingerbread and some poppyseed cake and some cookies—oh hello," she said as she spotted Mrs. Murphy seated on the sofa. "I didn't realize you had company."

"Actually, I was just leaving." Mrs. Murphy stood. "Mrs. Murphy—I'm with the Veteran's Aid Society. And you are?"

"I'm Dotty West," Dotty said. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Murphy."

"It's nice to meet you too." Mrs. Murphy looked the other woman up and down. "And are you friend or family?"

Dotty smiled. "Let's just call me family."

"I see—he told me he had family nearby—that's always a plus, isn't it?" Mrs. Murphy said. She glanced down at her wristwatch briefly. "Well look at that—I really must be getting on. I do hope to see you again soon, Colonel Clayton—hopefully very soon indeed. Good day."

"Good day, Mrs. Murphy." The colonel watched as the woman walked down the sidewalk towards her car. Dotty turned to face him.

"Veteran's Aid Society?" She repeated. "I've never heard of them."

"To be honest, I hadn't either," the colonel confessed. "But apparently they have a contract through the VA—she showed me her identification." With a slight screech of tires Mrs. Murphy's car pulled away from the curb, disappearing down the street. "She seemed pretty harmless, though."

"Hmm—maybe," Dotty said.

He looked at her. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure, exactly—just that something about her seemed a little 'off', if you want my opinion." Dotty shook her head. "But it could all be my imagination."

"I told her I didn't require her services—maybe that discouraged her." Still, the colonel's mind kept going back to those questions—the stream of persistent questions about the bases he'd been to; the places he'd traveled.

Simple curiosity? He wondered. Or had it been something more? Suddenly he wasn't too sure.

"Shadow Shock." Dotty said suddenly.

"Huh?" the colonel turned to look at her. "What does that mean?"

"Just an expression—it means we could be seeing shadows everywhere—mysteries where there aren't any."

"Yeah," the colonel replied. "We could be." Shadows—he hoped that's all it was. "Hey, what do you say to having some of that gingerbread?" he asked Dotty. "Maybe with some hot chocolate?"

Dotty smiled. "I'd love to."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

Mrs. Murphy settled herself into her recliner. A fire burnt in the nearby grate, filling the room with warmth, and as always, she had a cup of hot tea nearby—just the thing for a chilly afternoon, she thought. The phone rested in its charger on the table nearby—picking it up, she dialed a familiar number.

"Extension 5973," a woman answered. "May I help you?"

"Yes, you may," she replied. "Just tell him it's Mrs. Murphy."

"One moment."

"Thank you, love." Her cat, Mr. Whiskers, jumped into her lap, purring loudly, absently she scratched the top of the ginger tabby's head as she waited for the familiar voice to come onto the line. She didn't have to wait long.

"Mrs. Murphy? How did it go?"

"Pretty well, I think." She took a sip of tea, feeling the warmth as it trickled down her throat and seeped into her bones. "Starting slow—I don't know that the colonel completely trusts me yet."

"You'll get there," he told her. "And you know that you can always use a little extra 'help' if you need to."

"Believe me, love," Mrs. Murphy replied. "I'm prepared to do whatever is necessary to get what I need." She paused, taking a sip of tea. "There is just one little wrinkle, though."

"One little wrinkle?" The man repeated. He was trying to remain calm; but she could hear the anxiety in his voice—she had to admit that it gave her a certain satisfaction to know that she could rattle him. "And just what would that be?"

"His family." Mrs. Murphy recalled the photo she'd seen sitting on the bookcase while the colonel had been busy making coffee—she'd picked it up, studying it closely. A man—his nephew, she guessed—a woman who was probably his wife—that older woman and a teenage girl—his great niece, perhaps? "They live nearby in Arlington and they help him out—they could interfere in our plans."

"Well we're paying you to make sure that they don't." he said. "Colonel Clayton could provide us with very valuable information—we don't want to lose that, do we?"

"No, sir, we don't."

"And I will remind you that time is of the essence."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Good. Find out everything you can about this family in the meantime—and if they do interfere, you know what we have to do."

"Oh yes," Mrs. Murphy smiled, taking another sip of her tea. "Don't you fret, now—I know exactly what I have to do."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**4247 Maplewood Dr**

**4****:45 PM**

"So that's all she did?" Lee asked. He, Amanda and Dotty sat together at the kitchen table. Outside the sky was beginning to darken, fluffy white flakes falling through the sky—the weatherman had predicted evening flurries. "Just asked a lot of questions?"

"Well yes," Dotty replied. "But it was more than that—it was the type of questions she asked."

"About the bases that he's been to," Lee said. "You told me. Dotty, this woman works with a lot of military men—she knows what they like to talk about— she could've been making small talk."

"He's right, Mother," Amanda added. "It might have just been polite interest."

"Polite interest about the size of the base?" Dotty said, raising her eyebrows. "About what it was like? Couldn't some of that stuff be classified?"

"Yeah," Lee agreed. "Some of it could be. But the colonel has a top security clearance—trust me—he knows better than to give away sensitive information."

"I guess you're right," Dotty sighed. Now that she'd actually said it out loud it did sound pretty flimsy. She took another sip of coffee, struggling to collect her thoughts. "It was just the feeling that I had when I talked to her—something about her just seemed—I don't know—a little strange."

"Believe me, I understand," Lee said. "But if I'm going to investigate someone, I need more than a feeling that someone is a little strange."

"Dad?"

Jenna's voice startled him—Lee turned to see his daughter standing in the kitchen doorway.

"I didn't mean to disturb anything," she said. "I just wondered if you could help me study for my test—Mom said you might."

"Test?" Lee looked at Amanda questioningly.

"Her test for her learner's permit," Amanda explained. "Jenna and I had a talk this morning—she wants to see if she can take it on her birthday."

"Yeah, well—" Lee ran his hand back through his hair—he could feel the knot in his stomach tightening. Why she was in such a rush to do this? She couldn't even get her license until she was sixteen—that was plenty of time to learn. "We'll ahh—we'll have to see about that."

"But Dad it's important," Jenna told him. "I need to get my permit before I can take Behind the Wheel—they told me."

"She's right, Lee," Amanda said. "She does need her permit first."

"Please?" Jenna asked.

That pleading expression in her eyes—he could never say no to these eyes. Lee let out his breath in a whoosh.

"Listen—I'll help you with it later, munchkin, I promise—maybe after dinner—right now we're a little busy."

"Okay," Jenna replied. "Didn't mean to interrupt. Oh, hey, Grandma," she said as she spotted Dotty. "Did Great-Uncle Robert like the treats? Did he have his tree up yet?"

"Jenna—" Lee said.

"Okay, okay—I'm going." They listened to the sound of her feet going up the stairs; her bedroom door slowly closing.

"What about this Veteran's Aid Society?" Dotty asked him. "Couldn't we check them out? I've never even heard of them."

"That's not exactly suspicious," Lee said. "There are a lot of non-profits out there—and a lot of them are a part of the faith-based initiative. We do investigate groups like that." They had cleared a lot of groups during the last spring cleaning, he recalled. Had this society been one of them? He couldn't remember. "But like I said—we would still need more to go on."

More to go on—Dotty took another sip of her coffee. Maybe there was nothing more to go on—nothing but an unfounded suspicion. Suspicion tinged with jealousy? At the moment she just thought of the colonel as a friend—but still, she couldn't deny that she found him attractive.

'It could just be in my mind,' Dotty thought. And Lee was right—the colonel would know better than to give out information that was sensitive or classified—he wasn't exactly a novice in these matters.

Then she remembered Mrs. Murphy—that strange, almost calculating look in her eyes: "I do hope to see you again soon, Colonel Clayton…hopefully very soon indeed." The words she'd said before she'd left—to Dotty it had sounded like she meant it.

Shadow shock, she thought again, a small shiver running through her. She sincerely hoped that's all it was.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Tea and Secrets-Part Two **

**Best Buy**

**Saturday, December 20, 2003 **

**1:30 PM **

An iPod.

The colonel stared down at the object, still in its packaging. It was supposed to play music—that much he knew—though he couldn't see for the life of him how the thing was supposed to work. He remembered Lee when he was a teenager and he'd bought him a hi-fi—the mechanics of that had seemed pretty straightforward. But this—so many buttons and that tiny screen.

Would Jenna know how to use it? She probably would, the colonel reasoned. Weren't all kids supposed to be tech savvy these days? She'd probably love to have one of these—providing she didn't have it already, of course.

The problem was that he just didn't know—especially when it came to kids and teenagers. That was why it had been a hell of a lot easier to just take Lee to the store and let him pick out the present he wanted. And a lot easier to just send Jenna a gift card. But now—

"Can I help you, sir?"

The colonel looked down to see a young dark-haired girl, wearing a blue polo shirt and a nametag that identified her as 'Melody, Sales Associate.'

"Yes," he told her. "I'm trying to find a present for my great-niece and I'm afraid that I'm not sure what to get."

"How old is she?" Melody asked.

"Fourteen—but she'll be turning fifteen soon."

"And what kind of stuff is she into? Movies? TV Shows? Computers? Cameras? Phones? Gaming?" Melody barked out the choices in a rapid-fire fashion, reminding him of a military training instructor from his Academy days.

"I—ahh—" If his head could spin he was certain it would be spinning now. "I'm afraid I don't know," he managed finally. "She has a cell phone with a camera, but she doesn't spend an awful lot of time on it."

"Any hobbies?"

Hobbies—there had been dancing, but that was when she was younger—Jenna had told him that she liked geology but he had a feeling that this store didn't carry anything in that line. "I don't know," he said again. "I'm retired military, you see—I've only settled here recently." Melody said nothing in reply—the look on her face suggested that she thought he was from another planet. "I was thinking about this." He showed her the package.

Melody's face cleared. "Oh that's the third-generation iPod with the all-touch interface. How many GBs would you like with that?"

"GBs?" the colonel repeated uncertainly.

"Gigabytes," Melody said. "We have the 20 GB and the 40 GB models available. How many songs do you think she might load onto it?"

He was about to tell her that he had no idea what she was talking about when a familiar voice interrupted him—he turned to see Mrs. Murphy, standing beside him.

"What's the difference in price?" Mrs. Murphy asked.

"About fifteen dollars," Melody replied.

"I see," Mrs. Murphy nodded. "And how many more songs does 40 GB allow you to download?"

"About 5000 more than the 20 GB," Melody said. "Depending on the size of the songs."

"Well—in that case, I'd like the 40 GB model," the colonel told her.

Melody smiled. "I can take care of that for you right away, sir."

"And we'll have a gift receipt for that as well," Mrs. Murphy added.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"I really have to thank you," the colonel told Mrs. Murphy as they walked out into the parking lot. "I'm afraid that I didn't have the faintest idea what I was buying in there—or even what language that girl was speaking."

"Well teenagers can be hard to buy for—believe me, I know," Mrs. Murphy said. "That's why I usually get my Patrick a gift card and let him buy what he likes."

"To tell you the truth, that's what I usually do for Jenna," The colonel popped open the trunk of his car, putting the Best Buy bags alongside the other bags. "But this is the first Christmas that I'll be spending with my nephew and his family—I guess I just wanted to make it special."

"That's understandable," Mrs. Murphy replied. "And I'm sure Jenna will love the new iPod—oh dear—would you look at that?"

"Look at what—oh." the colonel's gaze followed Mrs. Murphy's finger and then he saw it—his two front tires—two flat front tires. When had that happened? His tires had looked just fine this morning. One tire he could've dealt with on his own—but two—his heart sank. Mrs. Murphy put a hand on his arm.

"Listen—this is not a problem," she said. "Do you have roadside assistance?"

He had to think for a minute. "I think so, yes."

"Then you can call them on my cell phone—and we'll have a nice coffee why we're waiting," Mrs. Murphy said. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful," the colonel said. "And I have to thank you again, Mrs. Murphy."

The woman's smile widened. "All part of what the Veteran's Aid Society does, Colonel Clayton."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Starbucks Coffee **

**2:15 PM **

"Here we go then," Mrs. Murphy placed the cup in front of him. "Two sugars and no cream—just the way you said you like it."

"Thank you," the colonel said. "It's not a cappuccino or anything like that, right?"

"No." The woman shook her head firmly as sat down beside him. "Plain old Colombian coffee— that's my favorite."

"Well, great minds think alike," the colonel replied, taking a sip. Slightly bitter, he thought—but not bad—maybe he'd visit Starbucks more often in the future. "You have to let me pay you back for the coffee, though."

"Not at all," Mrs. Murphy smiled. "It's my treat, colonel—at any rate you need something warm while waiting for the auto club."

"Yeah." The colonel took another sip—it really was a pleasant brew—very pleasant indeed. "So tell me—how did you get involved in all this?"

"Well, I was retired," Mrs. Murphy began. "I had been with the post office for twenty years or so—saved up a tidy sum, as they say. But the idea of retirement didn't exactly appeal to me." She paused. "I guess you could say that I still felt I had a lot to contribute."

"I know the feeling," the colonel said. The idea of retirement hadn't exactly appealed to him either—he liked to be busy—the idea of just sitting there watching TV or puttering around the garden hadn't exactly been appealing. "So you thought you'd volunteer?"

"Ahh—well that's the funny thing—I guess you could say that I stumbled upon it accidentally."

"Accidentally?" he repeated.

Another smile. "Exactly. I was at home and one of the volunteers came to my door—she was bringing a meal to my next-door neighbor but she was frightened of his dog—I helped her out and that was that." She paused. "I know that sounds a little strange."

"No, not at all." The colonel replied. Mrs. Murphy looked at him rather strangely—he hastened to explain. "My nephew's wife—she sort of came into her profession the same way—as an accident." He stopped himself from saying anymore—shouldn't have even started down that road to begin with, and part of him wasn't quite sure why he had. Mrs. Murphy continued to look at him. "Sometimes the best things are the ones we just stumble across."

"Isn't that the truth," Mrs. Murphy said. "You know, my sister and her husband bought an RV—they spend their retirement traveling to different places. I always thought that sounded quite nice."

"Not me." The colonel shook his head. "Had quite enough of that in the Air Force, thank you."

"Still, there must be places that you enjoyed—that you'd like to visit again?"

"Sure, a few places." He began to feel warm inside as he spoke; warm and relaxed. "There was Fort Walton Beach, in Florida—nice area—good fishing all year round."

"Sounds lovely," Mrs. Murphy agreed. "What base is that near?"

"Eglin Air Force Base—though it's closer to Valparaiso."

"Was that a nice base?" she asked him.

"About the same as all the others," the colonel said. "I remember that Lee once told me that if you've seen one base, you've seen them all."

"Lee? That's your nephew, right?"

"Right, Lee."

"Surely there must have been something—I don't know—special about the base?"

Special? Part of him thought that was a strange question, but at the same time he found his mouth opening to answer her. "Well it is assigned to the Air Force Materiel Command Air Armament Center."

"Really?" A flicker of interest in her eyes. "What can you tell me about that?"

"It's responsible for developing, acquiring, testing and deploying air-based weapons."

"Like missiles?"

"Yes, missiles—and other things." He needed to stop; he realized. Stop before this got out of hand—only his head felt so strange—fuzzy—at that moment a man holding a clipboard and wearing a hat with an Auto Club logo entered the shop, looking around. The colonel felt relief flowing through him.

"Excuse me." He stood quickly. "I'll just deal with this."

"Yes, of course." For one moment he thought he'd seen anger flickering in her eyes but just as quickly it was gone—replaced by a bright smile. "I'll be waiting right here."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"I don't understand," the colonel said. "You're telling me there's no tire damage?"

"None at all," the man from the auto club replied. "No leaks—nothing like that—looks to me like someone just let the air out of both of your tires while you were in the store."

"Who would do something like that?" he asked.

The man shrugged. "Dunno—kids, probably—probably just bored and looking for kicks."

All this trouble because some kids were bored—silently the colonel thanked God that Jenna was nothing like that. "So after you put air in them and they should be fine, right?"

"Good as new," the man grinned. "Shouldn't take but a moment or two, Colonel Clayton."

"Thank you." The cold air felt good against his face, clearing his head—the strange fuzzy feeling he'd had in the coffee shop was starting to disappear. At that moment he spotted Mrs. Murphy, walking towards him across the parking lot.

"You didn't come back," she explained breathlessly. "I guess I was a bit worried. So, what's the problem?"

"Well it looks like someone let the air out of two of my tires," the colonel told her. "Once they're inflated there shouldn't be any problems."

He could see the shock in her eyes. "But who would do a thing like that?"

"Lord only knows—kids, probably. I can't thank you enough for staying here with me—I only hope I didn't throw off your schedule too badly."

"Not at all." She patted his arm. "I enjoyed the company—and thank you for the enlightening discussion."

"You're very welcome." What had they discussed, exactly? He couldn't quite recall. It had been pleasant though—that much he did remember. "Hopefully I'll see you again soon."

"Oh yes," Mrs. Murphy replied. "You can count on that. Have a very good day, Colonel."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

From the safety of her own car Mrs. Murphy watched as the colonel slowly pulled out of his parking space. He should be all right for driving, she thought—she had been careful not to give him too much—the man would be useless to them dead. At that moment her cell phone rang; she picked it up and flipped it open.

"Murphy speaking."

"How did it go?" he asked. "Did you get anything?"

"A little," she replied. "I'll be putting it all in my report. I'm afraid we were interrupted before I could get too far, but he had an excellent response to the drug."

"Well that was the main objective of this little exercise," he told her. "Now your next objective is to get him somewhere alone—where there will be no interruptions."

"No problem, love." A small smile played over Mrs. Murphy's lips. "That shouldn't be any problem at all."

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

***For disclaimers, see Part One ***

**Treason and Old Lace-Part Two**

**Soldier's Relief Fund Headquarters, Henrico, VA**

**Wednesday, January 19, 2005**

**11:35 AM **

"Here you are, Ms. Coulton." Mrs. Murphy handed Estelle the envelope. "There's a sizeable bonus in there as well—and believe me, every penny of that was well-earned."

"Thank you," Estelle replied as she placed the cash in her purse. "I could sure use it." That was an understatement, she thought to herself. Before she'd found Mrs. Murphy and Soldier's Relief she'd been barely subsisting on social security and a small pension from her job as a secretary for the Veteran's Administration. Anything her husband had managed to save had been eaten up by the illness which had ravaged the last few years of his life and destroyed his mind—taken away the man she knew and loved and replaced him with a stranger.

"There must be something you can do." Estelle had pled with the doctors, but they all told her the same thing—that there was nothing they could do—the disease would progress and nothing would stop it. So she'd held his hand and soothed him, talked to him even when he had no idea who she was. And underneath it all had been a simmering anger and resentment.

This wasn't the way her life was supposed to be. She'd been cheated.

After his death she had tried getting other jobs—but there wasn't much available for seniors in today's market, and the few she'd been able to find had paid peanuts. That's why finding Mrs. Murphy had been a godsend. Money to pay for necessities with some left over—she'd had forgotten how good it felt. Part of her knew it was wrong, of course—sometimes Estelle even felt guilty about what she was doing but she knew that she had to look out for herself—no one else was.

"I certainly do hope you find the information useful," she told Mrs. Murphy.

At that statement the other woman's head jerked up, her pale eyes staring coldly. "That's not your concern," she said. "Your concern is simply gathering the information. The rest is irrelevant—remember that."

"Of course—I know that." Estelle was surprised to find that her voice was trembling beneath the woman's gaze. "I guess—what I was trying to say is that I hope I'm doing a good job for you."

Like magic, the hard look on Mrs. Murphy's face melted into a warm smile. "Oh dear, of course you are," she reassured her. "Believe me, we appreciate you—you're one of the best operatives we have and you're making tremendous progress with the major. I trust you've found the rewards to be adequate?"

Estelle nodded. "Yes—I've been very pleased—it's helped me tremendously."

"Good," Mrs. Murphy said. "Remember to keep your purchases small—no flashy cars, no new home—treat yourself but don't buy anything that attracts too much attention. Have you thought about investing some of your money?"

"I've thought about it but I haven't gotten around to it," Estelle replied.

"Do it," Mrs. Murphy told her. "I can give you a list of investments which are tax-free."

"Very good." Estelle's gaze fell on a photo on Mrs. Maxwell's desk—a large ginger cat—her pet, she assumed, though she didn't know much about her employer's personal life. There weren't any other pictures that she could see—if Mrs. Maxwell had any other family, they weren't represented here.

"Is there anything else you need?" Mrs. Murphy's voice brought her back to the present." Any more questions?"

"No," Estelle answered quickly. "No, I'm fine."

Mrs. Murphy nodded. "Very good. I'll see you next week then—same time. Keep up the good work."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Andrews AFB**

**12:00 PM **

"I'm glad you came to see me," General Morrison rose from his desk as Lee and Amanda entered. "Colonel Clayton told me that he'd contacted the Agency—I'll be glad to offer any help that I can. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"No thank you, general—we're fine." Lee said. "Mainly we're trying to see if this fits into an old case of ours involving Karbala."

"Where soldiers were being drugged and questioned by charity workers—I remember hearing about that," the general replied. "You never caught the perpetrators?"

"We shut the organization down," Amanda explained. "But Charles Rendell was murdered and Alice Murphy, one of their main operatives, went underground. It's possible she may have started her own network using the Soldier's Relief Fund as a front."

The general nodded. "It does sound possible. Actually I'm hoping that's the case—I still can't quite believe that Major Sterns would willingly turn traitor."

"How long have you known him?" Lee asked.

"About five years now," the general said. "He transferred here so his wife Donna could get cancer treatment in Alexandria—he went through some rough times after she passed a couple of years back, but he seemed to be improving."

That was what Mrs. Murphy and Karbala had done before, Amanda thought to herself. Taken advantage of soldiers who were lonely or injured in some way—people who would be more isolated and vulnerable to their manipulations. This wasn't a coincidence—she was more sure of that than ever. "You told Colonel Clayton that certain information was leaked that only the major could've known," she said aloud. "How exactly did you discover that?"

"The Department of Homeland Security—their National Cyber Division turned up an Islamic site that was posting security information about certain bases—Andrews was one of those bases. The site is down now—we tried to do as much damage control as we could but we have no way of knowing who saw it or what might still happen because of it." The general let out a sigh. "That's the problem with this war—about half the time we seem to be fighting an enemy we can't even see."

"And you're certain that no one else was privy to that information?" Lee asked.

"Absolutely certain." The general replied. "Only myself and Major Sterns—and as I said, I'm pretty damn sure that I'm not the leak. What do you think your next move might be?"

"We'll try to find out as much as we can about the Soldier's Relief Fund," Amanda said. "Find out who's behind it—and if they are engaging in espionage we'll shut them down." Hopefully for good this time, she added silently. Lee took her hand—she knew that he was thinking the same thing.

The general gave another nod. "Do what you can—and quickly. I may not be able to hold off formal charges too much longer."

"We'll do our best, sir," Amanda told him.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**The Agency **

**1:30 PM **

"The Soldier's Relief Fund." Francine pulled the thick file folder from out of the cabinet. "Actually one of our older charities—it was started by heiress Althea Foster in 1983 after her son was wounded during the invasion of Granada—and up until her death a year ago the organization was managed solely by her. The main office is just over on Wisconsin."

"Any idea who manages it now?" Lee wanted to know.

"The last time it was vetted, which was late last April, the organization was being managed by her daughter, Blair Foster," Francine replied. "According to their website she's still the head. There is another interesting tidbit, however. Their previous mission was to assist wounded veterans, but they've since expanded that to include all veterans and enlisted soldiers, regardless of status. Of course, that may have something to do with the large grant they received from the government."

"Faith Based Initiative," Amanda said.

The section chief nodded. "Exactly. They've tightened up their procedures since the debacle with Veteran's Aid, but apparently a grant is still fairly easy to get. "

"Worth checking out, anyway," Lee said. Taking over a previously established charity would be a good move on Karbala's part—and much less likely to attract suspicion. Expanding their mission would make sense as well—reach as many soldiers as possible. "Any background on Blair Foster?"

"Not much so far," Francine told him. "She seems to be clean—prep school, Vassar, Smith—got an MBA and then came straight home to manage her mother's organization. Everything looks good so far, but we'll keep looking."

"Of course if Mrs. Murphy's running the show, she may just be the name on the letterhead," Amanda remembered her mother reading about Althea Foster in the society pages of the newspaper. The lady had been quite a pistol, even in her old age. If the daughter was anything like the mother Amanda couldn't picture her giving up leadership that easily.

"We also ran a background on Major Mark Sterns," Francine said. "Not much there either but there was something that we didn't know before—he had a bit of a breakdown after his wife's death."

"Understandable." Lee couldn't even imagine what he'd do if something like that ever happened to Amanda—he didn't even want to think about the possibility. "How bad a breakdown are we talking about here?"

"A couple of days hospitalization, nothing more," Francine replied. "Apparently it wasn't bad enough to affect his security clearance. So probably not relevant, but it might be worth checking into."

"Might be," Amanda agreed. They were still stumbling around at this point—they really didn't have any way of telling what was and wasn't relevant. "We'll go over to Soldier's relief and check them out."

"Let us know what you find," Francine said. "If Karbala is back in business, we want to take them out as quickly as possible."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

**Soldier's Relief Fund Headquarters**

**3:00 PM**

"Please, take a seat," Blair Foster indicated the two chairs in front of her desk. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"No thank you, Ms. Foster." Amanda replied as they took a seat. "We just had a few questions to ask you, if you don't mind."

"I'm always willing to help when I can," Ms. Foster said. "What kind of questions?"

"Just a few things," Amanda said. They didn't want to overplay their hand yet—at this point they didn't know whether Ms. Foster was involved—the last thing they wanted to do was tip anyone off. "The Soldier's Relief Fund was originally founded as an organization to help wounded vets, is that right?"

The young woman nodded. "That's correct. After Kevin—that's my older brother—after he lost his legs my mother realized how little there was to help people like him. There was the VA, of course, but he needed someone to help him with the day to day living—so many of them do. And that's where we come in."

"What exactly do you provide?" Lee asked her.

"Basically whatever's needed," Ms. Foster told them. "It's different for each case, really. Some people require things like meals and help around the house, while others just enjoy having the company."

All very similar to Veteran's Aid, Amanda thought—almost eerily so. Though at this point that didn't mean much—they still didn't have enough evidence to go on. "Do you provide any sort of medical care?"

"Well we don't provide day nurses as such, but we do have state licensed caregivers on staff and all of our volunteers are certified in CPR and basic first aid." Ms. Foster said. "Most of this information is on our website. May I ask what all this is about, exactly? We went through this process this last spring."

"Just clarifying a few things, that's all," Lee explained. "We understand that you've recently changed your organizational mission?"

"Oh is that all?" Ms. Foster sounded relieved. "The truth is we didn't actually change our mission at all—we simply expanded it."

"Was that due to the money that you got as part of the Faith Based Initiative?" Amanda wanted to know.

Another nod. "That was part of it—I can't deny that the money helped us tremendously. And when one of our district managers suggested that we grow our organization to care for more soldiers, it seemed like an idea whose time had come." As she spoke Ms. Foster looked at the portrait of the elderly woman on the wall behind her—hair pulled back—aristocratic features—Amanda recognized it immediately as Althea Foster. "I know my mother would've approved."

"Yes, I'm sure she would have." A suggestion from a district manager—an idea began to form in Amanda's head. "Do you remember exactly whose suggestion it was?"

"Not exactly," Ms. Foster replied. "It was way back in June, but I can find out for you in just a moment—the minutes from our meetings are electronically stored—ahh, here we are. The suggestion was made by Angela Maxwell—she runs our branch near Centreville."

Angela Maxwell? It could just be coincidence, of course, but still—Lee and Amanda exchanged glances—they knew they were they thinking the same thing. "So she suggested that you might expand your mission?" Lee asked.

"It was she," Ms. Foster said. "And actually I'm not surprised. She's one of our best. Started out as a volunteer and rose quickly—she's a real credit to this organization."

That did sound very much like Mrs. Murphy—if Amanda had learned anything about that woman it was that she was a survivor. They definitely had to look into this as soon as possible.

Ms. Foster looked down at her watch. "I do have another engagement, so I do need to wrap this up." she said. "Are there any more questions?"

"Just one," Amanda said. "What kind of background checks do you do on your volunteers?"

"A basic criminal background check and drug screening—we do want to be careful about who we have on our team." Another glance at her watch. "I really do have to go now—let me know if you need any other information."

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Tea and Secrets-Part Four**

**1104 Agnew Dr**

**Friday, December 26, 2003**

**3:30 PM **

"So Ramstein houses both the 86th and the 786th support squadrons—that is what you said, correct?" Mrs. Murphy sat facing him, tape recorder in hand.

"Correct," the colonel took another sip of tea—his voice slightly slurry. "They're divided –because of the missions they undertake."

"And are they housed separately?"

A nod. "One in building 2108 –that's the 86th—and the other in building 2118—I was con-consulted on it, y'know."

"Yes, I do know," Mrs. Murphy replied. "And what exactly is their mission? Colonel? Colonel?" No reply—he slumped in the chair, eyes closed. A shame, she thought. They had gotten so far today—but it couldn't be helped.

"Goodbye then, colonel." Mrs. Murphy rose from her chair, leaning over the semi-conscious man. "I hope to see you again very soon. Thank you so much for the lovely time. " A soft murmur issued from the colonel's mouth in response—his eyelids fluttering slightly—looking at her but she wasn't sure that he actually saw her at this point. No matter—the most useful side-effect of this little cocktail was that the victim retained no memory of what had been said or done.

"A few more sessions, eh?" she whispered to him—her lips barely brushed his cheek. "Just a few more and then we'll be done." She straightened, shouldering her bag as she headed out the door.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

Seated in her car across the street, Dotty watched as the colonel's door opened and Mrs. Murphy left, walking briskly down the sidewalk towards her car. Strange, she thought. The colonel, always the gentleman, would normally walk a lady to their car or at least to the door—but he was nowhere to be seen.

Something was definitely wrong here.

Despite her rising anxiety Dotty forced herself to sit very still, waiting quietly while Mrs. Murphy got into her car. There was a slight screech of tires as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the block.

'Now,' she thought. Getting out of the car she made her way across the street.

The front door was closed —Dotty rang the bell and waited—no reply.

"Colonel?" She tapped lightly on the door. Still nothing. The doorknob turned in her hands and she pushed it open.

"Colonel?" The light in the family room was dim but Dotty could see him, seated on the sofa, head drooped forward. Oh gosh—he wasn't—but drawing closer she realized that he was still breathing—his chest rising and falling.

'Thank God.' She switched on the overhead lamp and bent over the colonel's still form, giving him a brief examination. No injuries—at least not that she could see. A teacup lay nearby, tilted onto its side—some of the liquid had trickled out but a small amount was still nestled inside. Picking it up Dotty sniffed it. Just like before, the same bitter smell assaulted her nostrils, causing her eyes to water slightly. Some kind of drug—it had to be. The liquid on the bottom looked dried—grainy. Sugar, no doubt—to hide the taste of the drug. Dotty placed the cup back on the table. She touched the colonel's cheek and the he groaned—his eyes opening slightly.

"Hang on," Dotty told him—not sure if he could actually hear her at this point. "I'll just get you a glass of water." Going to the kitchen she grabbed a small glass from the cabinet and filled it straight from the tap. The colonel was sitting a bit straighter as she came back into the family room—his head turned, noticing her.

"Dotty?" His voice sounded like a tape recording with the batteries running down. "How—how did—"

"Never mind right now." Dotty put the glass of water to his lips. "You'll be fine, just drink some of this."

"'kay," he replied blearily.

The water did seem to help, Dotty noted with relief—some of the coloring began to come back into his face and his eyes looked a bit more alert. After a few more sips he pushed the glass away from him.

"Fine—I'm fine now—thanks."

"Do you have any idea what happened?" she asked him.

"Happened?" The colonel repeated. "I—ahh—" he ran a hand over his face. "I remember fixing lunch—soup and a sandwich—I was watching a game on TV, and then I—" his voice trailed off, confusion filling his eyes.

"Try to remember," Dotty prompted gently. "What happened next?"

He shook his head. "Sorry—I can't quite—Alice—that's it! She came over—like she said she would. Is she still here?"

"No," Dotty said. "She left. Do you remember anything after that?"

"Some," the colonel replied. "We had some pie—some of the apple pie—and then we had some tea."

"And is that all you can remember? The tea and nothing else?"

"Afraid so." Again the colonel shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "I don't understand what's going on."

Dotty drew in a deep breath, her eyes looking into his. This was going to be hard for him to hear, she thought—but she had to tell him straight out. "I think you were drugged," she told him finally. "And I think—I think it was Mrs. Murphy."

"Mrs. Murphy? No," the colonel said. "No she would never do that to me."

"Are you really sure?" she asked him gently. "Just think—how well do you really know her?" He said nothing in response but she could tell she'd hit a nerve. "And I'm betting this isn't the first time that you've had a memory lapse after one of her visits." More silence. "Is it?"

"No," he admitted finally. "It's not the first time—it's been a few times, as a matter of fact. I just thought Alice was a friend—I don't understand why she would do this."

"Neither do I," Dotty said. She could see the pain in his eyes— the betrayal—she could only guess how he must be feeling at this point. "But I do think we need to get your blood tested—to find out what she gave you and what she was using it for." She paused. "I also think we need to call Lee and Amanda—get the Agency in on this."

For one moment she thought the colonel was going to argue with her; instead he nodded. "You're right," he told her. "I have a top secret security clearance—if I've been compromised in any way they would be ones to deal with it."

Dotty patted his arm as she stood. "I'll make the call. Why don't you drink a little more water—it might help to clear your head."

"Yeah," he took the glass from her, sipping the water slowly. His hands trembled slightly but he managed to hold it steady. Picking up the cordless from the table, Dotty dialed a familiar number.

"Lee?" she said when her son-in law answered. "I'm at the colonel's house—there's been an incident."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**The Agency **

**7:30 PM **

"What have you got?" Lee asked Dr. McJohn.

"It's kind of hard to say," McJohn replied slowly. "We're running a more detailed chemical analysis—the results of that will take some time. I can tell you that it's nothing we've seen before."

"That's all you have?" Lee's tone was incredulous. "It's nothing you've seen before? Nothing else?"

"I didn't say that," McJohn said. "What I can tell you is that it seems to share certain chemical similarities with sodium thiopental—more commonly known as sodium pentothal."

"Some sort of truth serum?" Amanda asked.

Dr. McJohn nodded. "That would be my guess, though I can't say for certain. But I imagine it would work the same way as that drug, making its victims more compliant to pressure. It also appears to share some elements of the drug Rohypnol—which would explain the short-term memory loss."

A truth drug coupled with loss of memory, Lee thought—meaning that the victim would give away secrets and not even be aware of what they had done. His uncle never would've willingly given away secrets—he was certain of that—but under this drug he wouldn't have stood a chance. Lee wondered how many other soldiers Mrs. Murphy had done this to. "Would there be any way to retrieve the memory of what was said under the influence of this drug?" .

McJohn sighed. "Well I won't know anything for certain until the complete analysis comes back, but in my experience I'd call it unlikely."

"Are there any side effects?" Amanda wanted to know.

"Apart from the memory loss, I don't see anything else that poses that kind of danger," McJohn replied. "We should be able to create an antidote for this, however."

"Antidote?" Lee repeated.

"Not an antidote in the strict sense of the word," Mcjohn said. "But something taken beforehand that can neutralize the drug's effects. It'll take time, but I think we can do it."

"An antidote sounds good, McJohn—I'd get to work on that as soon as possible." Billy's voice—Lee and Amanda turned to see the Agency Head standing there, folder in hand.

"Thought I'd find you down here," he said "I thought you'd like to know what we've found out about the Veteran's Aid Society."

"What do you have?" Lee asked.

Billy let out a sigh as he opened the folder, adjusting his glasses. "Not a whole lot, I'm afraid. I can tell you that it's a fairly recent organization—they registered as a non-profit this last September and in October they became part of the Faith Based Initiative."

"So they wouldn't have been vetted by the Agency during this last Spring Cleaning." Amanda said. "But surely they would've been checked out before joining the initiative, right?"

"Not as thoroughly as you might think," Billy replied. "Homeland Security runs a cursory check on the organization and the leaders—if nothing on the preliminary sends up a red flag no further checks are done. Since the Initiative was created thousands of non-profits have applied for grants—the government has tried to streamline the process."

Meaning that lots of potentially shady organizations could've gotten through—Lee knew from experience that these groups did their damndest to appear outwardly respectable—though often the 'official' leaders were little more than a front. "Do we have anything on the leader of this group?" he asked.

"His name is Charles Edward Rendell," Billy leafed through the folder as he spoke. "No criminal record—he graduated from Brown in '86 and was with the Peace Corps until 1989, after which he settled in Alexandria. His experience with non-profits goes back about thirteen years. We're trying to get a deeper background now—we'll let you know when we have any more news."

"And Mrs. Murphy?" Amanda asked. "Did you find anything about her?"

Billy nodded. "There's not much, however. Alice Josephine Murphy, born in 1930— wife of Gerald Murphy, now deceased. No criminal records—until about a year ago she worked for the US Postal Service. No children or living relatives—the only address we can find so far is a PO Box. But we'll get more." He paused. "We really have to thank Mrs. West for bringing this to our attention."

"Yes," Amanda agreed. "Mother's instincts were right on target with this one."

"That they were." Lee said. It ran in the family— he could remember all the times that Amanda's instincts and intuition had come in very handy. "We really need to get moving on this one, Billy—this could be big." An understatement, he knew—at this point there was no telling how many other volunteers there were or how many had been compromised.

Big was the wrong word—this could be huge.

"That's why this case is now Priority One, Scarecrow," Billy replied. "And I think the first person to speak to is the colonel. How is he doing, by the way?"

"Fine," Lee said. Physically, at least—since being brought in the colonel hadn't had much to say—he'd barely even made eye contact. Some of that could be the lingering affects of the drug—but Lee could only guess what his uncle must be feeling at this point. "He's down in medical with Dotty. We'll go speak to him now."

"Give him my regards," Billy told them. "Any help that he can give us now would be greatly appreciated."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

The colonel was seated in the examining room with Dotty beside him; he looked up as Lee and Amanda entered.

"So?" he asked. "What's the verdict?"

This wasn't going to be easy—not at all. Lee drew in a deep breath and let it out. "You were definitely drugged, sir—the tea was laced with a substance—it's some sort of truth serum combined with something that would affect your memory."

"Is there any way to retrieve the memory?" the colonel asked. "Of what I said—what I told her?"

"No, not really," Lee replied.

"Not really," the colonel repeated. Lee could hear the bitterness in his uncle's tone. "I suppose that was too much to expect, huh?"

"Can you remember anything of what she said to you before you drank the tea?" Lee asked. "I know she was asking questions about the bases you visited."

"She was just interested in the bases themselves," the colonel said. "How big they were—things like that. Sure I thought I was strange at first—but she seemed pretty harmless—I thought maybe she was just making small talk."

The same thing he'd said to Dotty when she'd originally told him, Lee recalled—wincing inwardly at the memory. "Did she give you a phone number where you could reach her—or maybe an address?"

"No," the colonel shook his head. "She always contacted me. And there was the time that she 'bumped' into me in Best Buy—though I'm guessing that was all arranged—even down to the tires." He laughed shortly. "I've really been a prize fool, you know."

"No," Dotty said. "Don't think that."

"What the hell else am I supposed to think?" he snapped. "I mean, I trusted her—I believed her—even thought we were friends and it all turned out to be a lie. You tell me what else I'm supposed to feel!" The colonel let out a noisy sigh, running his hand back through his hair. "I'm sorry, Dotty—I didn't mean to take this out on you, it's just—"

"It's all right," Dotty placed her hand on his. "Believe me, I do understand."

"If it makes you feel any better, it really wasn't your fault, sir." Amanda told him. "This was a very powerful drug—you really didn't have any control."

"No disrespect, Amanda," the colonel said. "But that really doesn't help me at the moment. The fact is I still let myself trust her even when my instincts were telling me that something was wrong. And I'm sure that some of that was the drug, but I let myself believe that she really wanted to help me."

Lee could hear the pain in his uncle's voice. That was the worst part of this, he thought—the way that Mrs. Murphy took advantage of these men—retired, wounded—many who were still trying to navigate civilian life after a career in the service. She used and betrayed them. He wished he could think of the right words to say—Amanda had always been better at that stuff, but even she had fallen silent.

Maybe there were no words in this case.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about Mrs. Murphy?" he asked the colonel. "Think back—even something small could be an important clue."

"You think I haven't been doing that, Skip?" The colonel replied. "I've been racking my brain but there isn't anything else—we're sunk—I'm sunk. Lord only knows what she'll do with the information she has, and once this gets out my security clearance will be gone—no consulting firm will ever hire me now."

"We still have a chance of catching Mrs. Murphy," Dotty said. "We could set a trap for her. It's not over yet."

"What?" the colonel laughed disbelievingly. "How could we set a trap? Once I take that drug from her again, it's over."

"Not necessarily," Lee told him. "McJohn is working on an antidote—something that you could take beforehand that would neutralize the effects of the drug."

"That's right," Amanda added. "And we could wire the house and be nearby—catch her in the act."

The colonel fell silent for a few moments, staring down at his hands.

"I don't know," he said finally, looking back up at them. "Something could go wrong, and I—I've already compromised myself enough. I just don't know."

Lee could see the uncertainty in the colonel's eyes—in the space of a few hours it almost seemed as though the man had shrunk. It worried him—he'd seen him upset, but never quite like this before. Amanda took his hand—she knew what he was feeling. Dotty 's voice broke the silence.

"You can't think like that," she said. "This woman used you—she lied to you. You don't want her to get away with what she did—and you don't want any more secrets to fall into the wrong hands. Right?"

The colonel sighed again. "Of course not."

"Listen to me," Dotty's eyes looked into the colonel's own. "If this works, it could shut Mrs. Murphy and her organization down. Don't you want that? Isn't it worth the risk?"

Another pause—Lee held his breath, hoping that she had gotten through.

"Yeah," the colonel replied. He straightened, his voice growing louder "Yeah, I'd like to do that. Lee—let me know when that antidote comes through. I'm with you on this all the way."

Lee felt a smile spreading across his face. "I will do that, sir. Thank you."

**SMK SMK SMK **

**1104 Agnew Dr**

**Friday, December 26, 2003**

**9:30 PM **

"Here we are," Dotty said as she pulled up into the driveway of the colonel's house. "Sure you don't want me to come in with you? We could talk a little, if you like."

No reply at first; he just stared straight ahead. For a moment Dotty worried that she'd offended him somehow. Finally he spoke.

"No," he said. "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer, Dotty—it's just been a really long day—I think I might just hit the sack."

"I understand," Dotty replied. "I know it hasn't been easy for you."

"No it hasn't—but I've dealt with tougher things in my life. Believe me, I'll survive."

"I know you will." Dotty tried to think of what else she could say—something that would help—but nothing came. "You take care of yourself—have a good night."

"You too." He touched her shoulder briefly. "And Dotty—thank you for your help with this. Believe me, I really do appreciate it."

"You're welcome," she said. "Don't worry—we will get her."

A smile—small, but even so it made her feel better to see it. "Yes, we will."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

A long day, the colonel thought as he unlocked and opened his front door—he hadn't been kidding when he'd told Dotty that. His head throbbed dully and his arm—rolling up his right sleeve he looked down at the band-aid in the crook of his elbow—the place that marked where they'd taken his blood for testing. Looking around the edges of the bandage he could already see where a bruise was beginning to form. The mark was a reminder, though—a sign of what Alice Murphy had done to him. The way she'd used him, gotten past his defenses— made him trust her. He looked down at a teacup, still lying on the coffee table.

"_A nice cup of tea is what you need," she'd told him. "Things will look much better after that."_

Much better, indeed. Bending over the colonel plucked the object from the table. For a few moments he just stared down at it—his fingers clutching the handle tightly. Briefly he considered throwing the object to the floor just to watch it break, the porcelain shattering into hundreds of pieces—

"No," he said quietly. "She's not worth it." He knew now what he wanted to do. Walking into the kitchen he opened the trashcan lid and tossed the cup inside.

At that moment the phone rang. Who could it be at this hour? Lee or Amanda, perhaps—checking on him? Going into the living room he picked up the extension,

"Hello?"

"Hello, Robert—I hope I haven't called you too late."

Alice. He'd known she'd call, of course, but hearing her voice felt like a bucket of ice water being dumped on his head:

"_Act natural," Lee had told him back at the Agency. "Don't give her any reason to suspect that something's up. Just arrange a meet and that's when__ we'll move in." _

"_I'm hardly a novice, Skip," he'd told his nephew. "Believe me; I know what I need to do." _

Knowing and actually doing were two different things, though—he had to admit that Lee actually did have a point—despite everything that had happened, part of him still felt like he wanted, needed to talk to her again. Some side effect of the drug, no doubt—it helped to explain how he'd grown so close to her so quickly.

"Robert?" Alice's voice—for one moment he'd almost forgotten she was on the line. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he managed to say. "Just fine, Alice—though I guess I'm a little tired."

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to call so late," she said.

"Trust me," he told her. "It's not a bad time. What did you need?"

"I just wondered if we could see one another on Sunday—I have family matters on Saturday but I thought Sunday would be nice—I could even bring dinner."

'Dinner laced with more drugs, perhaps?' he thought to himself. And as for the 'family matter', Lee had informed him that she had no living family. Out loud he said. "Dinner sounds just fine—what time should I expect you?"

"Between four and five PM," she told him. "I'll see you then. Have a good night, Robert—sleep well."

"You too, Alice—goodnight." Quickly the colonel hung up the phone and replaced it on its charger, not trusting himself to say any more. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply as he fought to regain his composure.

Picking up the phone again, he dialed Lee's number.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Tea and Secrets-Part Five**

**1104 Agnew Dr**

**Sunday, December 28, 2003**

**3****:30 PM **

"Here, colonel, take this," Amanda handed him a pill, along with a glass of water. "It's the antidote," she explained. "It should start to take effect in about a half-hour."

The colonel looked down at the small white pill in his palm—if he didn't know any better he'd almost swear it was an aspirin. He swallowed it and drank the water, handing the glass back to Amanda.

"McJohn said that it should last about eight hours," Lee added. "Not that we think you'll need that much time, but it's a comfortable margin."

The colonel nodded. "Better safe than sorry," he replied. The thought of all the time he'd spent drugged and under that woman's control still sent a chill through him. "So everything is set up now, right?"

"Pretty much," Lee said. "Leatherneck's wired the entire downstairs for sound and we've placed cameras here in the living room and in the kitchen—that's where you're most likely to be. We'll be monitoring in the cable van across the street. "

"What about a wire on me?" the colonel asked.

Lee shook his head. "Too risky. You're supposed to be drugged—if she starts to suspect something she could search you and find a wire. The last thing we want is to spook her."

That made sense, the colonel thought. They wanted to put this woman away, after all—along with her organization— and hopefully for a very long time. "What happens after this?"

"We follow her, see who she reports to," Amanda replied. "We need to find out who else is involved in this and exactly what they're doing with the information they gather."

"Yeah, and hopefully we'll find a way to shut this little operation down for good," Lee said. At that moment his cell phone rang—he took it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Stetson here." A pause—the colonel watched as his nephew's jaw tightened. "Well that's nice, but I'd like you to have your permit first. But can we talk about this later, munchkin? It's not a good time right now." Another pause—Lee ran one hand back through his hair. "Yes, Jenna I promise—we will talk about it later, okay? Now goodbye." With a sigh Lee closed his cell phone.

"Lee, what was that about?" Amanda asked.

"Jenna said that Lisa's dad is letting her practice driving in the mall parking lot before the mall opens," Lee told his wife. "She wants to know if she can do the same thing. I'd said we'd talk about it. I swear, I don't know why she's in such a rush."

"Doesn't seem too strange to me, Skip." the colonel said. "I remember how badly you wanted your license."

"Maybe, but that was different," Lee countered. "For one thing, I was a lot older—"

"We'll talk about it later at home, Lee—all of us together." Amanda looked down at her watch. "For now I think we need to get this show on the road—it's nearly time. She said she'd be here between four and five, right?"

"That's right," the colonel replied. Almost time, he thought—feeling the faint stirrings of apprehension deep in his gut—the same feeling he used to get before testing a new plane or rocket—he breathed in and out slowly, bringing his emotions under control.

This would work—it had to.

"Good luck, sir," Lee told him.

"Yeah," the colonel said. "Good luck to you too."

**SMK SMK SMK **

"Lee, come on," Amanda said. They sat together in the van, looking at the monitors that displayed what was going on in the colonel's home. "I'm sure you weren't too much older than Jenna when you wanted to drive."

"I know was at least sixteen—or fifteen and a half," Lee replied. "And besides the times were different then—there was less traffic on the roads—" a faint snort came from his wife. "A-man-da, listen— she isn't even fifteen yet. What's the rush?"

"Actually I agree with you there," Amanda told him. "But you have to understand how your daughter feels—oh hold on, the doorbell just rang—it has to be her." They watched the colonel rise from his chair and go to the door.

"Alice, hello," the colonel said. "So nice to see you—here let me take those for you." He took the foil wrapped packages from her. "

"Oh thank, you Robert," Alice replied, her voice betraying a slight lilt—Irish, most likely, Amanda guessed. "It's just Irish chicken and dumplings with roast potatoes—my specialty. The perfect thing for a Sunday meal."

"It sounds delicious," the colonel said.

"Believe me, it is." From this angle they could see Mrs. Murphy in profile—an elderly woman; her long grey hair pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. She looked nice and sweet, Amanda mused—the last person you'd suspect of espionage—all of which made the cover absolutely perfect. "Tell me, have you ever been to Ireland?"

"Afraid not," the colonel said. "Though I was briefly stationed in the UK in the fifties—at RAF Alconbury."

"Really?" The sudden interest in Mrs. Murphy's voice was obvious. "Perhaps you can tell me about it later—I'd love to hear all about it…"

"Perhaps," the colonel replied. "Now let's get these things into the kitchen so we can eat, huh? I'm starving."

"She's good," Lee voiced Amanda's earlier thoughts. "She's very good."

Amanda nodded in agreement. She wondered how the woman had ended up on this side of the game. A need for money, perhaps? Or was she in it just for the thrill?

"Yes, food first," Mrs. Murphy said. "And after that, we can have some more tea—"

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**5:15 PM **

"There we go," Mrs. Murphy bent over him, plucking the now-empty cup from the colonel's fingers. "That's good—very good indeed."

Her tone and demeanor had completely changed, the colonel realized; from warm and conversational—as it had been during their meal— to brisk and businesslike. Like Jekyll and Hyde—part of him was beginning to understand how little he actually knew her. He sat in the armchair, head drooping forward, and watched through half-lidded eyes as she removed a small tape recorder from her purse and placed it on the table between them, pushing the record button down.

"Now," she told him. "Last time we talked about base security on the bases that you were recently consulted on. Do you recall that, colonel?"

Base security, the colonel thought—dear God—how much information had he already told her? He fought to remain outwardly calm—the last thing he wanted to do was give himself away. "Yes, I do recall that," he replied.

"Very good," Mrs. Murphy said approvingly. "We had started to talk about Shaw Air Force Base the last time. You told me that you had worked with them a few years ago."

"_Stick __as close to the truth as you can without giving away anything that's too sensitive." _That's what Lee had told him. "Yes," he said. "That's true. I worked with them in 2001."

"What did you do for them?"

"Consulted with them about security following 9-11."

"So you helped to identify the weaknesses in their security?" She leaned forward as she spoke—even with his eyes half-closed he could see the gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Yes—yes we did."

"And what were those weaknesses, exactly?

This was where he had to be careful. "Too many points of entry," he told Mrs. Murphy. "And too many—too many unauthorized civilians who were coming and going at will." He allowed his voice to falter slightly—no doubt she'd think it was an effect of the drug.

"Who were these civilians?"

"Churchgoers—parents who were taking or picking up their children for school on the base."

"I can see how that would be a problem, yes," Mrs. Murphy said. "And what did you recommend that they do to fix this?"

"I recommended fewer points of entry," the colonel replied. "And everyone coming on base needed to get a pass from the visitor's center before entering."

"Meaning that they would have to show identification?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes—has to be verified—and they could be searched—along with— with the vehicle." Slowly the colonel let his eyes close a bit—his chin rested against his chest. He felt her breath on his face and forced himself to sit completely still.

"Hmm…" Mrs. Murphy murmured. "I really hope I didn't give you too much—it shouldn't have this sort of effect this soon—colonel?" She patted the left side of his face—her voice rising slightly. "Colonel, can you hear me? Robert?"

"Yeah—I can." His head moved upwards. "Hear you, Alice."

"Very good. Now can you tell me how many points of entry there are now?"

"Three." Nothing classified about that—any potential visitor would be able to find that out.

"And you need to prove that you have a legitimate reason to be on the base?"

"Correct—have to be verified."

Silence followed—for a minute or two he thought that maybe she'd given up—then suddenly she spoke. "What about public events held on base?" Mrs. Murphy asked him. "Things like air shows? I understand that Shaw holds such events each summer? Colonel?"

"Yes, they do," the colonel said. "In July."

"And are people and their belongings searched then?"

Another nod. "Small purses and bags—nothing larger allowed—and it's searched."

"How many points of entry?"

"For that event only—only one."

"And are the other points guarded at that time?" she barked. "By how many MPs?"

No more—he couldn't give her anymore about that without compromising—he'd already done quite enough of that. He felt her hand patting his shoulder, his face—he kept his eyes closed. Mrs. Murphy let out a noisy sigh.

"That's it for now, I suppose." There was a click as the recording machine was turned off. Footsteps sounded—was she leaving? The colonel wondered. He didn't dare open his eyes until he was certain she was gone.

"Mrs. Murphy here," she said. "Let me talk to him." A cell phone, he thought—she was calling her headquarters.

"I wanted you to know that I need more time," Mrs. Murphy was saying. "Yes, yes, I know—the thing is, I think the drug you gave me today was too concentrated—he fell asleep too quickly." A pause. "Don't you worry, dearie—next session I'll pump him dry—I know how to handle him."

The words and tone sent a chill through the colonel, filling him with disgust. The thought that he'd trusted her—let her into his life—her lips brushed his cheek and it took every ounce of willpower not to pull his face away.

"See you soon," she told him. He listened to her footsteps; the front door opening and then closing.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

"Okay, here she comes," Amanda said as Mrs. Murphy walked out of the house towards her car.

"Great—let's see where she goes now." Lee put the van into gear and they pulled in behind Mrs. Murphy, making sure to stay a couple of car lengths behind so they wouldn't be spotted, following her as she made a right onto South Glebe and then another right onto Arlington Blvd.

"Looks like she might be heading back towards the Veteran's Aid Society," Amanda told him. "Should we call for backup to meet us there?"

Lee shook his head. "Not yet. We don't know for certain where she's headed yet and the last thing we need to do is spook somebody. I want to bust this ring wide open, Amanda."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Amanda replied. "The colonel did a good job—I don't think she suspected a thing."

"He did a great job." And it couldn't have been an easy job for him either, he thought to himself. Trust didn't come easily for the Colonel, but he had let himself trust Mrs. Murphy. Some of that had been the effect of the drug, Lee knew—but to have that trust betrayed like that—he remembered the pain he'd felt when he discovered that Eva had been betraying him—Lee couldn't even imagine what his uncle must be feeling right now.

"He'll be all right, you know." Amanda's quiet voice brought him out of his reverie. As they pulled up to a stop light he turned his head to look at her. "I know what you're thinking, Lee—but he's not alone now. We'll help him through this—all of us together."

"We will." Reaching over, Lee took his wife's hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "Together." And hopefully together would be enough—it had to be.

The light changed to green as Mrs. Murphy's car made a left onto North Wilson.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Veteran's Aid Society**

"I told you," Charles Rendell said. "I'll get it to you soon, I promise."

"Soon is not good enough, Mr. Rendell," the heavily-accented voice on the other end of the line replied. "You promised us that information by today."

"Don't tell me what I promised, Faisal—I know damn well what I promised," Rendell's voice rose slightly, his fingers clutching the receiver so hard that his knuckles turned white. "But I'm telling you that these things happen, even with our best operatives."

"And this woman—this Mrs. Murphy," Faisal said. "She is one of your best operatives?"

"No, not just one of the best," Rendell countered. "She is the best—I assure you." Looking out his window he could see the woman's car as it pulled into the parking lot. "I wouldn't have assigned anyone less to the colonel."

"Nice to know you are taking this seriously, Mr. Rendell," the other man told him. "And trust me, we do understand how things can go wrong, even in the best-run organizations. That is why we're giving you until this Tuesday to get the information you need."

"Tuesday?" He repeated. The bell on the door tinkled as Mrs. Murphy entered the front office—Rendell held up his hand for silence as he continued speaking. "I'm afraid that Tuesday could be a little tricky."

Faisal's voice hardened. "Nonetheless, Tuesday is when I expect you to come through," he said. "I trust you know the consequences if you do not. Good day, Mr. Rendell." Before he could say anything else the line went dead.

'Shit—I should've never gotten involved with this,' he thought bitterly, staring at the phone in his hand. If only he'd listened to his instincts that first time in Morocco—he'd been working in conjunction with the US Army on a water purification project near Ouled Tahar when they'd approached him:

"_Want to make a little extra money?" _

At the time he'd been barely subsisting; thinking of the student loans he still had to pay, the credit debt he'd managed to amass—something in him had known it was wrong but he'd done it anyway—given them just what they wanted.

"_Thank you—we won't forget this." _

And they definitely hadn't. Two days after that a small jeep on the army base exploded, killing a dozen men and wounding twenty more. Rendell left the Peace Corps soon after that; made it back home and no one had ever known the part he had played.

Except for them, of course. They knew—and from that time onward they had owned him, body and soul.

"Mr. Rendell?" Mrs. Murphy stared down at him. "Are you all right?"

"What? Oh yeah—yeah, I'm fine." Hastily he placed the phone back on its receiver. "Sorry, I guess I zoned out for a moment. So—what do you have for me?"

"The information that I've received so far—that I told you about over the phone." She removed the digital recorder from her pocket and handed it to him.

"Thank you," Rendell took the recorder from her. "And everything went well? No problems?"

"Except for the drug, everything went as planned."

"Yes, of course, the drug. You told me over the phone that you thought what I gave you was too concentrated?"

"It must have been, sir," Mrs. Murphy replied. "He lost consciousness twice as fast as usual."

"Strange." Rendell shook his head. "What I have should be the same concentration, regardless. Still, what you told me makes sense. And you think you can get more out of him?"

Mrs. Murphy smiled thinly. "Like I said, I can pump him dry."

He believed her—in the months since he'd employed her he'd discovered that beneath her motherly exterior lay a core of pure steel. "Very good indeed," Rendell said. "Can you get that to me by Tuesday?" No reply—she stared out the window. "Mrs. Murphy?" he asked sharply. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, turning to face him, a bright smile on her face. "Nothing is wrong," she told him. "And I can get that to you by Tuesday."

"Yes, you do that. Lock the door behind you when you leave." Once she had gone he let his head drop into his hands.

'This can't go on forever,' he thought.

Something told him that it would all be ending very soon.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK**

That van.

As Mrs. Murphy left the building and walked towards her car she cast a quick sidelong glance—she'd seen that van somewhere before, hadn't she? Across the street from the colonel's house—she was almost certain of it. And now it was here—in the parking lot.

But was it the same van? Or merely similar looking? She wasn't sure. Had she been followed here?

Perhaps she was getting paranoid—but as the old saying went, just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't after you.

The only question was, who exactly were they? Mrs. Murphy opened her car door and slid into the driver's seat. By adjusting her rearview mirror she could see them quite clearly; a man with graying hair and a dark-haired woman. The woman was wearing sunglasses, but something seemed very familiar about her—about both of them. She made it a point never to forget a face—she was almost certain she'd seen them somewhere before.

Time to see what they wanted to do; the longer she dawdled in the car the more suspicious it would seem. Mrs. Murphy started the ignition and put the car into drive, pulling slowly out of the parking lot. A quick glance at her side mirror told her that the van had pulled in behind her, two cars back. Whoever these people were, they were not amateurs. The dark-haired woman was talking to someone now—probably calling for backup.

Cops? No—something told her it was more than that—probably federal agents of some sort. And whoever they were they must have been watching her for quite a while—they'd known she was going to be at the colonel's.

The colonel.

That was it, she thought, as realization washed over her. The reason why they looked so familiar. She recalled the family photo that she'd spotted on the bookcase—the man and the woman—his nephew and his nephew's wife.

Meaning that the colonel had discovered what she was doing—and this time he'd set her up. There had been nothing wrong with the concentration of the drug—he must have taken something—done something that neutralized the effect. It had been an act—a clever little trap designed to snare her. The knowledge caused her heart to beat a little faster; adrenaline raced through her veins.

How long had he known? And what part did his family play in this? Were they feds? And most importantly, how was she going to get out? She had considered this when she'd first gotten into this game, of course—the possible situations that might occur.

Only this wasn't hypothetical –not any more. This was real, and right now she didn't have much time.

'Think Alice, think!' With a shock she realized that she was less than ten minutes from home. For a moment she considered giving them the runaround but decided against it—they might already know where she lived and besides that, she needed to collect a few things if her plan was going to work.

She merged onto Washington Blvd, heading towards the George Washington Memorial Parkway.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

"Apartment 220-D," Amanda read aloud from the text she'd just received from Francine. They sat parked just across the street from the Highland Ridge Apartments. "Apparently it's rented under her deceased husband's name—Harlan Murphy."

"Makes sense," Lee replied. "That's why we couldn't find it before."

"Yeah," Amanda said. "You know, with the money she must be making, I almost expected her to live somewhere a little nicer."

Lee shook his head. "That would make her too conspicuous—the last thing she wants to do is draw attention to herself."

"True—too much money would definitely raise a red flag with the IRS." Amanda looked down at her watch. "Think she's in for the night?"

Lee let out a sigh, running one hand back through his hair. "Well she's been in there over an hour now and she's already reported—Somehow I doubt she has any other assignments." He paused. "Okay— here's what we'll do. We'll get Francine to send some men to watch this place and then you and I can go search the Veteran's Aid offices—see what we can come up with."

Amanda smiled. "Sounds like a plan, Stetson."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Highland Ridge Apartments**

**#220-D**

**7:3****5 PM **

Mrs. Murphy stared down at the piles of cash that lay in the duffel bag. The fruits of her labor, she thought—and during the months that she worked for this organization she'd managed to amass quite a tidy sum. Oh she'd done some spending here and there, of course. A new dress, a nice dinner out—a few little presents for herself when the mood struck. But nothing big or flashy—nothing that would draw attention. One of the first things she'd learned in this business was the importance of blending in—of not being noticed.

This business. Initially she'd only gotten into it for the money—to supplement a fixed income. As time went on however, she'd discovered that she possessed a real talent; and it amused her when she was able to use her skills to surpass the younger operatives. Now the ones who had initially sneered at her now treated her with respect, deference, even.

Part of her was really going to miss that.

Was it worth it though? Living in constant fear of discovery—risking arrest, imprisonment and possibly worse?

Maybe it was best to get out now—to cut her losses and run before she anything else happened. .

With a small sigh she dumped the money into her already packed suitcase.

At that moment Mr. Whiskers wandered into the bedroom, crying loudly—wondering what was going on.

"Come here, love." Mrs. Murphy said. It took some coaxing and some kitty treats, but finally she was able to get the large ginger tom into his carrier. His large golden eyes stared out at her balefully as the metal door clicked shut and he let out another meow.

"I'm sorry—it can't be helped," she told him—though she doubted that he understood. A small baggie containing the truth drug lay on her nightstand—that could come in handy. Picking it up she put it in her pocket.

What else—her eyes fell on the nearby phone. For a moment she entertained the thought of calling Mr. Rendell—warning him of what was coming. No, she thought—he'd find out soon enough—right now she had to think of herself.

Mrs. Murphy peered out through a chink in her blinds and into the darkness below. She couldn't see them, of course, but she could feel it—her instincts told her she was being watched.

'Now or never.' Picking up the suitcase in one hand and the carrier in the other, she walked out of her front door, across the hallway to 220-C. She rang the doorbell—after a few moments the door opened a crack, one eye peering out.

"Yes?" Mrs. Silbert asked.

"Hello, love." Mrs. Murphy put on what she hoped was her most endearing smile. "I wonder if you might be able to help me with a little problem—I could definitely make it worth your while."

A brief silence. "I don't know," the other woman replied uncertainly. "I was just getting ready to go to bed."

"Please—it won't take long," Mrs. Murphy said. "I'll make you a nice cup of tea and then we can talk about it—how does that sound?"

Another pause—finally the door opened.

"Come in."

"Thank you so much," Mrs. Murphy said, her smile widening as she followed the woman into her apartment. "I promise you won't regret it."

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

The truth drug had done the trick once more, Mrs. Murphy thought to herself as she made her way down Arlington Boulevard. In a few hours Mrs. Silbert would wake up with a slight headache and no memory of what had occurred—even the teacup had been washed clean—this time she would leave no evidence behind. As for the feds—getting by them had been the easiest part of all. Dressed in Mrs. Silbert's coat and hat and driving her Buick Lesabre had rendered her effectively inconspicuous—they hadn't even given her a second glance as she'd driven past and out of the parking lot. The car would have to be ditched eventually, she knew—at some point it would be reported stolen. But there was plenty of time to do that—in the meantime it was all hers.

"Time for a little traveling music, I think," she murmured. Leaning over, Mrs. Murphy switched on the radio. The sounds of Glenn Miller's 'In the Mood' filled the cabin. Mrs. Silbert definitely had good taste in music. She hummed along as she drove, looking for an interstate exit. She wasn't quite sure of where she wanted to go—only that she wanted to get as far away as possible.

The office.

She could see the familiar building to her left—she slowed down as she passed. In the glow of the well-lit parking lot Mrs. Murphy could see the van—that same van—somehow she'd suspected it would be there. No sign of the man and woman, but they were probably inside, searching the place. All coming down—she'd been smart to follow her instincts and get out before it was too late

It had all been the colonel's doing—Robert Clayton and his family—they'd sprung a trap for her and she'd walked right into it. At the thought Mrs. Murphy's hands clasped the steering wheel; so tightly that her knuckles grew white. How on earth had they figured it out? And which agency did they work for?

The loud honk of a horn startled her from her reverie—she'd been so lost in her thoughts that she'd nearly slowed to a standstill. The truck honked again—looking in her mirror she could see the driver—yelling at her—telling her to move on.

Move on—that's exactly what she had to do. She sped up and away from the intersection, leaving the office—her former life— in the far distance. Time to recoup and think of all that later, she told herself firmly—they might have gotten the organization but they hadn't gotten her—not yet, at any rate. She needed to focus on survival. She pulled up to a stoplight—her own reflection stared back at her in the mirror—eyes calm—her expression confident. Perfect. Her mouth widened in a slow smile.

If Alice Murphy was anything at all, she was definitely a survivor.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6

**Tea and Secrets-Part Six**

**Veteran's Aid Society **

**Sunday, December 28, 2003**

**8:15 PM**

"I think we've found just about all the audio tapes," Amanda said, as she carefully replaced the lid on the top box. "And they're all in alphabetical order." They stood together in the small storage room—the file cabinets up front had been dummy files designed to fool any investigators—this was where the real stuff was. It was funny, she thought—even in the middle of winter the windowless room felt warm— reaching up she pushed a damp strand of hair out of her eyes.

"Good job," Lee replied. He flipped through a file folder, his small flashlight trained on the contents. "We can have someone collect all this later tonight—hey, take a look at this."

"What is it?" Amanda stared down at what looked like some sort of bar graph—a series of blue and green bars and below each set of bars was a name—Bashram, Langley, Andrews—all air force bases.

"These blue bars represent what the troop readiness levels are supposed to be," Lee told her. "The green bars tell you what they actually are—they mainly use this to determine which bases need more funding or supplies."

"So anyone who got this would know which troops and which bases were least prepared."

"Yeah—very useful for anyone who might be planning an attack," Lee said grimly. "This information is pretty extensive—I'd sure like to know who they were selling this stuff to."

"Could be to the highest bidder, couldn't it?" Amanda asked.

"Could be." Lee shook his head. "Brokers usually fish around for any scrap they can find, though—all of this is very specific—even organized by branch—almost like someone's been requesting this."

"Yeah," Amanda agreed. "But the million dollar question is who?" She looked up, spotting a large white binder on the top shelf—standing on tiptoe she managed to pull it down. The front of the folder had just one word—Contacts.

'This is it,' she thought. 'It has to be.' The binder held several plastic inserts with charts—to the left she could see a column of initials—corresponding to dates and times on the top—and more initials in the chart itself. What did it—that's when she saw it—A.M. Alice Murphy. But if that was Alice, then where was—her finger traced along the line and there it was—R.C. for Robert Clayton.

"Lee I think I've got a list," she told him. "See? It looks like some sort of schedule and the initials—those were the times when he met her."

"Makes sense," Lee said as he stared over his wife's shoulder. "Looks like there were about 20 'volunteers' in this little ring of theirs."

Amanda nodded. Hopefully they'd be able to put names to the rest of these initials—bring these people in for questioning. She continued to flip through the folder. Nothing but more schedules—just like any business would have, really—only this was no ordinary business. Still there must be—she came to the end of the folder and that's when she saw a small white card, like a business card—stuck in the pocket of the binder—Amanda pulled it out, looking at the phone number and a single name—Faisal.

Then she turned it over and the word that she saw there made her blood run cold.

Karbala. She had thought they were gone—she thought the agency had closed them down—Amanda clutched the card tightly, fighting to control her breathing.

"Amanda?" Lee's voice was filled with concern. "What is it? Tell me?" She handed him the card, not trusting herself to speak. He looked down at the card—even in the half-darkness she could see the tension in his expression—the little knot that had formed in his jaw.

"We'll take this to Billy." He said.

**SMK**** SMK SMK SMK**

**The Agency**

**10:15 PM **

"Faisal Shahad," Billy said. He sat perched on the edge of his desk, file folder in hand. "He was in Birol's organization back in the '70s and 80s—worked himself up from a simple driver to Birol's right-hand man."

"Yeah, I remember the name," Lee replied. "According to reports he was being groomed to become Birol's successor before Karbala folded."

"Before we thought Karbala folded, you mean." Amanda spoke softly. Just seeing that name had brought back a rush of memories—her time with Birol—part of her had hoped she'd never have to think about that again. Reaching over, Lee gave his wife's hand a gentle squeeze.

Billy sighed. "Unfortunately Amanda's right—Karbala wasn't quite as defunct as we thought. While we've been dealing with other threats it seems they've been quietly building themselves back to full strength." He read aloud as he leafed through the folder. "A jeep explosion on a base—IEDs on base—small, random events going back to '89, but our intelligence now believes they could be linked. Again, we have a lot to thank Mrs. West for. "

"Yes sir, without Mother we might have never known there was a link," Amanda said.

Billy nodded. "That's very true, Amanda."

"Any signs that Birol's still involved?" Lee asked.

Billy shook his head. "We're still checking, but as far as we can tell, Birol has not had any contact with any of his former associates while in prison. No, it looks like Karbala's Faisal's baby now."

That was something at least, Lee thought. And as far as he was concerned Birol could rot in prison—along with Johnston and anyone else who tried to hurt his family. Looking over at Amanda he could see how pale she had become—her body tense—until now he'd had no idea how much it still affected her. He gave her hand yet another squeeze—trying to reassure her that no matter what, they were in this together—that it would be all right. "How is Charles Rendell involved, exactly?" He asked Billy.

"So far he just seems to be an informant," Billy said. "We believe he may have become involved with Faisal when he was with the Peace Corps in Morocco—he left rather abruptly after an incident at a base near there in '89. We're checking to see if the other non-profits he worked for were also engaged in gathering and selling information."

"What about the other volunteers?" Amanda wanted to know. "Is there anything on them yet?"

"Not yet, unfortunately," Billy replied. "The audio tapes we confiscated should help with that. We're also having Rendell and Mrs. Murphy brought in for questioning." At that moment the speaker on his desk buzzed. "Excuse me." He flipped a switch on top of his desk. "Melrose here."

"Billy, it's Francine." The Section Chief's voice filled the room. "It looks as though Mrs. Murphy's escaped."

"What?" Billy's voice was filled with disbelief. "Just how the hell did that happen? We had people watching her, didn't we?"

Francine sighed. "Of course we did. It looks like she drugged and robbed her neighbor, Elise Silbert—stole her clothes and her car—she drove right out of here right under our noses."

"Damn," Billy said softly.

Right under their noses—somehow Lee wasn't surprised. In the short time he'd been dealing with Alice Murphy he'd learned one thing—she should never be underestimated. "Francine, we need to put out an APB on that car as soon as possible."

"Already done, Lee," she replied. "And we've got Rendell—he's headed in for questioning."

"Good, at least we've got something out of this," Billy said. "Keep us updated on what you can get out of him, Francine."

"Will do." Billy turned off the speaker as he turned to face Lee and Amanda. "Is there any chance that Mrs. Murphy might pay another visit to your uncle? " He asked.

Lee shook his head. "I doubt it—her interest in him was purely business."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Billy said with a sigh. "But we'll station some men out there just in case—he knows to call us if she contacts him," he paused. "Hopefully Rendell will give us what we need to close this little ring—and maybe even lead us to Faisal and Karbala."

"Hopefully we can close Karbala down for good, sir," Amanda added.

"We can hope," Lee agreed. But even as he spoke he couldn't quite shake the chill that went through him, the feeling that this wasn't over—that they'd be dealing with Karbala again—sooner than they thought—his grip tightened slightly around his wife's hand.

He could only hope that he was wrong.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**1104 Agnew Dr**

**Tuesday, December 30, 2003**

**11:30 AM **

"Karbala—that's what this organization is called?" The colonel asked. Lee, Dotty Amanda and the colonel sat in the living room in front of the Christmas tree, coffees in hand. Outside the sky was grey and cloudy—the weatherman had predicted flurries for later in the afternoon. "What do you have on them so far?"

"There's not much right now," Amanda replied. "We've pulled in Rendell and a few of his volunteers—so far they haven't been very forthcoming with details."

The colonel took a small sip of his coffee, feeling the warm liquid trickle down his throat. "Was Veteran's Aid the only society involved in gathering the information?"

"Looks like it could be," Lee told him. "From what we can gather, Faisal's idea was to keep things small—anything too large might attract undue attention."

That made sense, the colonel thought. A little bit of classified information here and there—things that might seem inconsequential, but when added up they could cause untold damage. He recalled reports he'd read concerning 'accidents' on base over the past few years—explosions, soldiers' lives lost— now he found himself wondering exactly how many of those had been deliberately caused. How many Alice Murphy had been responsible for—the thought sent a chill through him. "And this Faisal—he's the head of Karbala?" The colonel asked aloud. Lee nodded. "Are there any leads on him?"

"Only a phone number," Amanda replied. "We haven't been able to trace it yet. Only a few people had any direct contact with him—right now he could be anywhere." Her voice trembled slightly—Lee took her hand in his.

Something was bothering her, the colonel realized—this was not just an ordinary case with her—part of him wondered what it was, but at the same time he didn't want to pry. "Alice Murphy was the top operative, if I understand correctly," he said. "Is it possible that she might have had contact with Faisal?"

Once again Lee nodded. "It's possible," he admitted. "The problem is, we'd have to find her first. The last report we had was that the car she stole was found on the interstate heading into Kentucky and from there the trail goes cold."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me," the colonel said. If there was one thing he did know about Alice Murphy it was that she was very strong—she wouldn't go down without a fight. He took another sip of coffee, looking out the window—already tiny flakes were beginning to fall. "I just—" he paused, trying to collect his thoughts. "I still can't believe that I was so gullible—that I let myself trust her like that."

"It wasn't just you," Amanda told him. "A lot of people were fooled by her—she was a professional."

"That's right, sir," Lee added. "And the drug she gave you helped to break down your inhibitions—it made you more open to suggestion."

"Maybe it did, Skip—but still—"

"Robert, you can't blame yourself," Dotty placed her hand briefly over his. "You had no way of knowing what that woman was up to."

"No, that's true," the colonel replied. "And if it hadn't been for Dotty I might have never known. I'll tell you what, though—from now on I'm going to be a hell of a lot more careful about who I let come through that door—I won't trust just anyone."

"Alice Murphy was bad news," Amanda said. "But that doesn't mean that everyone's that way—you can't let what happened with her stop you from trusting people."

"Perhaps," the colonel began. At that moment the doorbell rang. "Excuse me." He rose from the couch and went to the door. An older dark-haired woman stood there, holding what looked like a cake.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said. "I'm Nora Pratchett—I live two doors down."

"Oh yes, I remember you." Now that he thought about it he'd seen her a couple of times, passing by his house in the evenings as she walked her dog. "How are you doing?"

Nora smiled, a pink flush rising into her cheeks. "Oh fine—I'm just fine. The thing is—I was baking a chocolate cake and I just realized that I hadn't welcomed you to the neighborhood yet so I went ahead and baked a second one for you. I um—I hope you don't mind, Mr.—"

"Clayton, Robert Clayton—pleased to meet you, Nora." For a couple of moments he just stood there, not sure of what to say. This woman was different—he knew she was—she wasn't a thing like Alice Murphy—but still he hesitated—

'Amanda's right' he thought to himself. 'I can't stop trusting people.'

"Would you like to come in and share this with me?" he asked Nora Pratchett. "My nephew and his wife are here—I could make you some coffee or hot chocolate."

Another smile. "Thank you, but no. My grandchildren are staying with me for the holidays and they're two little boys—I'm afraid if I leave them alone for too long they'll destroy something."

"Believe me, I understand," the colonel took the cake from her. "And I'm sure I'll enjoy this very much, Nora—thank you."

"You're very welcome," Nora replied. "Perhaps we can spend some time together later—Robert—when I have more time."

"I'd like that very much. Take care."

"You too." For a few moments the colonel just stood in the doorway, watching as Nora Pratchett disappeared down the block.

**SMK SMK SMK SMK **

**Poplar View Motel—Kenova, WV**

**Thursday, January 4, 2004**

**12:00 PM **

"Right, well, here's your room key," the man said as he handed it to her, along with her driver's license. "How long do you plan on staying with us?"

"Oh about a week or two," the woman replied. "Until I get myself settled, that is." She was a small woman, grey-hair pulled back from her face—her eyes were sort of a blue-grey color—she fixed him with a gaze—for a moment he found himself imagining that she could see straight through him into his soul. "You do allow pets, don't you? The guide said that you were pet-friendly."

"Yes we are—providing that it's a small pet."

The woman smiled. "Well I have a cat," she told him. "But don't worry, he's very well-behaved."

"Yes I'm sure he is, Mrs. Maxwell."

"Please—do call me Alice. Mrs. Maxwell sounds so stuffy and formal. What should I call you, by the way?"

"I'm Rodney, ma'am—Rodney Wells."

Her smile widened. "Rodney—that's my grandson's name—you and he are about the same age. It's nice to meet you, Rodney."

"Nice to meet you too," he said. "Should I get someone to help you with your bags?"

"No—I can manage."

"Fine," for a moment Rodney hesitated, looking at her—he didn't want to pry—his parents had always told him not to ask the guests too many questions, but at the same time he wanted to know—

"What is it, Rodney?" Alice Maxwell's voice broke into his thoughts—those eyes pinning him in place. "Is there something you want to ask me?"

"Sorta," Rodney confessed. "It's just—you drove up in a new Lexus—you have nice luggage, nice clothes—most of our guests are kind of down on their luck, if you know what I mean. No offense, but I just wondered why you wanted to stay here with us."

The words came out of him in a rush; for one moment he thought that maybe he'd made her angry—she didn't look mad but you couldn't always tell. Finally she spoke.

"Let's just say that I wanted a new beginning—a fresh start for the New Year," Alice Maxwell said. "Come up to my room sometime and I'll tell you more—maybe over a nice cup of tea." She bent down, picking up her suitcase and cat carrier. "Happy New Year, Rodney."

"Happy New Year to you too, ma'am."

**The End-For Now**


End file.
